Marisol let out a tiny breath, not quite a sigh. “I believe the assassination attempt was just a distraction. Whatever their purpose was, they achieved it and then returned to their master. More reports of similar attacks are filtering in from smaller kingdoms.”
She and Oliver exchanged a long look. I could tell by their intent expressions that they were following the same thought train, perhaps something they’d whispered about back on the dais. But by their silence they weren’t in the mood to share.
“Petra, Maxen, I need to speak to Oliver privately for a moment,” Marisol said.
The two of them moved off to the far side of the office, behind her great oak desk. Maxen and I wandered over to the fireplace, which had a small fire lit. Even though it was summer in Faerie, the day was cool.
“What do you think they’re saying?” I asked, eyeing my father as he stood just a bit closer to Marisol than any of her other advisors ever did.
Oliver had sworn his allegiance to Marisol before I was born, and I’d always assumed he’d also shared her bed regularly. He wasn’t Maxen’s father, though. Except for Maxen’s sapphire blue eyes, he was the spitting image of Marisol’s deceased husband. I couldn’t help wondering if Oliver’s relationship with Marisol had preceded even the time he was with my mother. He refused to tell me who my mother was but had implied that their relationship was intermittent. She’d died when I was still a baby, so I had no conscious memory of her.
“She’s most worried about the breach,” Maxen said.
“Oliver was, too. Has anyone ever breached the fortress before?” I was fairly certain it hadn’t happened in my lifetime, or I surely would have known about it. But I wasn’t well-versed in fortress history. Growing up, I’d paid little attention to the lessons that didn’t involve some sort of combat or weapons training.
“No breach since we staked claim to this territory and sealed the doorways,” Maxen said.
Marisol had claimed the prison for our people when she was only eighteen. I did remember that. First, she’d had to acquire it from the State of California, which I imagined took some considerable persuasion, especially considering she had always resided in Faerie. Then, she had to come up with the funds for the very expensive magic that transmuted the interior of the prison into Faerie and formed the outer doorways into the fortress and additional interior doorways. She, like Oliver, was a first-generation New Gargoyle, meaning that both of them had started life as a different race of Fae. At the Cataclysm, the disruption in magic sent out a ripple, causing the spontaneous formation of our race. Magic is strange like that, occasionally causing sudden shifts that defy logical explanation.
Initially it was thought the features of New Gargoyles were a disease, like the VAMP viruses, and that attitude still existed in some circles even though it had long been proven false.
Marisol was sixteen when the Cataclysm hit, and Oliver was twenty-six, just a year younger than my current age. They’d both been born into a minor Seelie kingdom that had since been absorbed by larger kingdoms. Like most first-generation New Gargs, Marisol and Oliver said very little about their lives before the Cataclysm. I suspected my mother might have been a subject of a small Seelie kingdom as well, maybe even the same one as Marisol and my father, but of course Oliver wouldn’t confirm my guess. The only thing I knew about her for sure was that the Cataclysm caused only part of a change in her. She’d been part-New Gargoyle and part mystery Fae when she had me. She’d died in the tumultuous couple of years after the Cataclysm, just before it was determined that New Gargoyles were a legitimate Fae race and not diseased, and Marisol subsequently claimed the fortress.
Marisol and Oliver finished their whispering, and they rejoined me and Maxen.
“If you remember any other details of the attacks, you’ll inform me immediately,” she said to all three of us. “And of course you will report any word of these servitors appearing again.”
With that, she turned and strode over to her desk, dismissing us. One thing I appreciated about Marisol was her tendency to get straight to the point. Many found her too brusque, but I thought it was refreshing.
Jaquard stayed behind while Maxen, Oliver, and I headed to one of the interior doors to make our exit.
“Oh, Petra,” Marisol called.
I cringed internally at her voice as my boots squeaked to a halt on the tiles.
Maxen pulled the door closed behind him, a little smirking smile on his face.
Grudgingly, I turned and went to stand in front of the wide desk, feeling oddly like I was facing a judge even though I hadn’t done anything wrong.
I settled my weight on one hip, trying not to look as if I couldn’t wait to spring for the door. “Yes, My Lady?”
“The invitation to join the Stone Order’s fighting ranks still stands,” she said. She’d set a postcard-sized piece of stationery in front of her. Without internet, cell phones, or phone lines that stretched between kingdoms, communication in Fae was still fairly archaic, and much of it had to be hand-written and then transported by ravens. She put down the pen and folded her hands on the desk. “Your father would welcome you into the legion, and you’d be a great asset to your people if you served here in the fortress.”
“I’m fine with my position in the Guild,” I said evenly. It was a considerable compliment to be invited to the fighting ranks outright, but flattery wouldn’t draw me in.
She regarded me for a moment. “Once the Stone Order becomes the Stone Court, you won’t have the freedom to work and reside on the other side of the hedge. Your people will need you here. You’d best get used to the idea sooner than later.”
I ground my teeth in annoyance. The implication that I’d be totally under her control and would regret not cooperating with her demands echoed King Sebastian’s threat, and it made me want to pick up something breakable and toss it against the wall.
“I understand that,” I said tightly. I waited to see if she had anything more to say.
Her nostrils flared slightly, but she lowered her lids and waved me away, dismissing me.
“Oh, and Petra,” she called after me. I turned. “Stop parking your damn scooter on the marble.”
I saluted and quickly slipped out. I wasn’t sure how she’d even known Vincenzo was out there in the lobby of the fortress.
I had to hand it to Marisol. Her conviction and confidence when it came to establishing a Stone Court was admirable. Or maybe it was blind stubbornness. Either way, she clearly didn’t put any stock in the assumptions of the rest of Faerie that New Gargoyles would eventually succumb to a larger kingdom.
I wasted no time leaving her office, and I found Oliver waiting for me in the hallway.
“I didn’t get a chance to finish before,” he said.
I blinked up at him, at first unsure what he meant. “Oh yeah, the changeling you were telling me about. The one King Periclase took.”